


Total Humiliation!!! Terrible Texting with Christophe Giacometti

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9167674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: Set after episode 6. The night after performing his short program in China, Yuuri receives an unexpected text from Christophe Giacometti.





	

Yuuri gets to bed early the night after his short program win in China. 

Victor wants to go out and celebrate, but Yuuri convinces him they can't take that chance. Yuuri's never been in this position. The last thing he wants to do is lose his lead—and maybe even his Grand Prix hopes—because he screwed around the night before the free skate. 

Instead, Yuuri takes off his glasses at a very reasonable hour and slides between the crisp sheets of his hotel room bed. Victor is in the shower, singing loudly in Russian. The people in the next room have already banged on the wall twice, which Victor has taken as encouragement to increase his volume. 

Leaving one light on, so Victor doesn't need to navigate the room in semi-darkness, Yuuri shuts his eyes. Almost immediately, his phone buzzes with a text alert. 

He could ignore it. He should ignore it. There's no one he needs to speak to. He had a lengthy conversation with his parents earlier in the evening. It mostly boiled down to them saying, over and over, “We're proud of you, no matter what happens tomorrow.” Yuuri was encouraged by it, kind of, while at the same time being just a little insulted by the strong, repeated emphasis on “no matter what.” He also spoke briefly by text with Yuko and Minako. And Phichit is here. He'd hugged Yuuri after the official results came in, as selfless as always, and said, “I knew you could do it.” 

Still, Yuuri takes his arm from beneath the blankets, fumbling around on his bedside table until he locates both the phone and his glasses. Shoving the glasses on, he reads, _You did well today_ , from a number identified as Christophe Giacometti. 

Yuuri can't remember ever texting or talking to him on the phone before. They rarely even speak in person. Celestino liked to call him “Swiss cheese”, because his short programs are full of holes. Still, because he was raised to have excellent manners, Yuuri replies, _Thanks. So did you._

_I didn't know you had it in you_ , Chris writes back, a second later. _Of course, now I guess the whole world knows you did._

Yuuri frowns. His English is very good, excellent even, but it feels as if something is being lost in translation. _Have it in you, I mean_ , Chris adds, as if that clarifies things. 

_OK._ Yuuri isn't sure what else to write. 

_I'm talking about Victor's cock._

Yuuri drops his phone into the bed, then scrabbles around, trying to find it in the sheets before the text alert goes off again, and Victor calls, “Who are you talking to, Yuri?” from the bathroom. 

_You don't need to be shy about it_ , Chris goes on. _It's a great cock. And I'm sure that sexy virgin act of yours drives him wild, right?_ Yuuri's face burns. He has to stop this, but how? He could turn the phone off, maybe. Hide it in a drawer. Throw it off the balcony and watch it get crushed by the traffic twenty-two stories below. _He's pretty wild anyway. Has he asked you to spank him yet?_ Yuuri is going to die. There's no alternative. Years from now, young skaters will be told the cautionary tale of Katsuki Yuuri, who skated a brilliant short program and finished first, only to die of terminal embarrassment just a few hours later. _And I don't know if you've seen it yet, but his toy collection is insane. Dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, lingerie, bondage shit...I think you can get arrested just looking at that half that stuff where he's from. Victor's really dedicated to sex. But you know that._

In the bathroom, the shower stops. A strangled noise, akin to a dying bird, escapes unbidden from Yuuri's throat. Victor is finished showering, which means he's going to come into the bedroom. He's going to see Yuuri with his phone, and naturally he's going to want to know who Yuuri is texting. Victor will probably come and peek, resting his chin on Yuuri's shoulder, because that's what he does, and he's going to see this horrible, horrible conversation and...

 _Yuuri? Are you still there?_

_I have to go_ , Yuuri types, hurriedly. 

_I'm sorry_ , Chris replies. _I was just joking. Teasing you. You really did skate well today. I hope you come in second. I'm always happy to have a cute guy behind me._ Yuuri snaps off his phone and drops it onto the table just as Victor emerges from the bathroom. 

He's naked, of course. Yuuri's convinced that, were it at all socially acceptable or appropriate, Victor would be naked all the time. Yuuri screws his eyes shut and regulates his breathing, hoping he's doing at least a passable impression of a sleeping man. Victor's footsteps stop at the end of Yuuri's bed. Yuuri can feel his eyes burning into him the way they sometimes do, like Victor is willing him to understand something vitally important. Yuuri's never sure what it is. He never asks, either. He's not sure he wants to know, at least not yet. 

After a long, long moment, Victor moves away. Yuuri hears him turn down the other bed. The light flicks off, and Yuri listens to Victor getting settled.

He has to say something. If he doesn't, he'll lie awake all night, and that's the last thing he needs right now. “Victor?” Yuuri whispers. Maybe Victor won't hear, Yuuri thinks, hopeful. Maybe he's already asleep. 

“Yes?” Victor sounds upbeat, cheerful. The opposite of asleep. 

Yuuri pulls the sheet over his head. “Did you ever sleep with Christophe Giacometti?” 

“What's that? I can't hear you, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri lowers the sheet. “Did you ever sleep with Chris?” He repeats, amazed he can form the words without spontaneously combusting. 

“Chris? Oh, no. No, no.” 

So Chris is all talk. It's not surprising. Relief floods through Yuuri. He wants to cry tears of joy. He wants to leap over to Victor's bed and hug him, platonically of course. He wants to...

“No more than two or three times,” Victor goes on, and apparently he and Yuuri need to have a good, solid conversation about what “no” actually means. “Four at the most. And I was drunk for nearly all of them. Why do you ask?”

“Good night, Victor.” It's more of a wordless yelp, but Victor still replies, “Good night, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri wants to dream about executing a perfect free skate and winning the gold medal. Instead, he dreams about Victor. Victor, in silky black underwear that caresses his flawless body while leaving nothing to the imagination. Victor, looking unarguably masculine in lacy women's thigh-high tights. Victor, in a leather harness of the type Yuuri once stumbled upon during an Internet search gone horribly awry, and which convinced him, for several weeks afterward, that he was an irretrievable pervert for not immediately shutting his browser window. When this dream Victor looks soulfully at Yuuri and says, “Spank me” in a pleading, almost desperate, tone, Yuuri's eyes fly open, his heart pounding and sweat pouring from his shamefully excited body. 

It's only one o'clock in the morning. In an attempt to escape the stifling bed covers, Yuuri turns over, which puts Victor's bed into his line of sight. The window shades are partially drawn, and light pollution from the city below bathes the room in a dim orange glow. It's enough for Yuuri to make out Victor's shape on the other bed. His sheets are crumpled in a pile at the bottom of his bed, revealing his long body and his smooth backside to the room. To Yuuri.

It's right there. All Yuuri would have to do is go over and touch it. Victor would welcome him, Yuuri's not so naive that he doesn't know that, but he can't do it. It would change everything between them. It would _ruin_ everything, and Yuuri would never forgive himself. 

Groaning in his sleep, Victor flips over, onto his back. Yuuri turns away before he can see anything that might push his resolution past the breaking point. He has to be strong, for both of them. Yuuri sticks his head under his pillow, wishes nothing but under-rotated jumps and sloppy footwork on Christophe Giacometti, and tries to go back to sleep.


End file.
